


Or Do I Dream?

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Series: Carry On Countdown 2017 [5]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown, Dream Sequence, Dreams, M/M, ambiguous reality, first kiss? maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: The beginning of Snowbaz, seen through a series of dreams that may or may not be shared between them. (Apologies for the bad summary, this fic is hard to summarize.) Carry On Countdown day 5.





	Or Do I Dream?

**Author's Note:**

> Are the events of this fic happening? What's going on? It's a dream, but does that mean it's not real?  
> Inspired by the incredible amount of dreamwalking in the Raven Cycle. Title from the beginning of The Taming of the Shrew by Shakespeare.

BAZ

I’m standing in a field. A field of roses. There’s no end, only stretches of flowers fading into light blue background. 

Standing in the middle of the field is Simon Snow.

 

He doesn’t see me. (Can he see me?) He lifts his face to heaven, and the sun gives him a natural spotlight.

His golden curls shine bronze, his tan skin glows. He wears a smile born of pure bliss.

He isn’t wearing his Watford uniform, the only clothes he owns. But neither is he unclothed. Instead, he seems to wear the idea of clothing, indistinct but present nonetheless. 

 

I step towards him, thorns slicing my skin. I’m chasing the end of a rainbow.

 

The world fades away until all that exists is Simon Snow.

 

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

 

SIMON

There are roses all around me. It’s warm, but pleasantly so. For once, I’m not boiling. A light breeze brings the chirp of birds and the buzz of bees, but so faintly that they seem to be more the impression of sounds than the sounds themselves.

The roses don’t hurt. Where the sharp thorns should prick my skin, all I feel is a soft brush of leaves. I’m flying, I’m free.

 

I close my eyes and look up. The sun shines on my face, and I’m almost dissolving.

I feel a slight prickling, like the weight of someone’s eyes. 

I raise my arms, and I become the light. All I am is happiness and peace.

 

I smile.

 

***

 

BAZ

 

Running.

_Where. Where. Where._

 

Fear so thick I can taste it.

 

The door in front of me vanishes, melting into the mossy brick.

A passage appears, dark and menacing, out of the stone to my left. I dash down it.

 

Have to find –

Where –

 

The walls are shifting, moving, closing in. They flash between every material and back again in the blink of an eye. 

The whirring of a saw.

 

_Simon._

Where?

_Save –_

 

A laugh, high and deep at once, rumbling and cackling. 

A scream, cut off.

 

My heart, shattering. Each grain of sand blown away into the black.

 

_Simon._

Too late.

 

SIMON

 

Dark. 

Fear.

 

Footsteps echo through the tunnel. They bounce, reflect. Are they mine?

Are they someone else’s?

 

They’re coming. Coming for me.

Have to hide.

But where?

 

A fork in the path. I dive left, keep running.

Wrong choice.

 

Someone’s coming to help.

Baz?

Baz is chasing me. I’m running from him.

 

No, I’m not.

 

Cold. Even my bones are cold.

I’ve never been cold.

 

The whirring of a saw. I scream.

 

I’m dead. 

But I can hear the pain in the voice that whispers _“Simon,”_ before fading.

 

***

 

SIMON

I’m in the woods. Tall pines tower hundreds of feet over me. There are other trees too, but I don’t know what they are. I don’t really care.

The light through the leaves makes everything golden. Shadows stretch over grass and trunks. Soothing shadows.

Ebb’s cottage is there, but somehow, I know she isn’t.

 

It’s a special kind of quiet. A silence that isn’t so much the absence of the world’s sound but rather a world that exists without it. The silence doesn’t feel empty; nothing is supposed to fill it.

 

The space, the clearing, is perfect. But it’s not enough. I turn my face to the sky, and the feeling vanishes.

 

Something shifts, subtle but present.

Night seems both closer and further away. The shadows both darker and shorter.

 

Baz sits on a fallen log so old it’s returning to the earth. How long has he been there? Wordlessly, he walks to me.

Gray eyes (but not stormy, not now) look into mine. Unsure but somehow awed.

 

The trees, the shadows, the world blurs. Those gray eyes are what’s left.

Good.

 

BAZ

It’s not the Wavering Wood. Too bright for that. Too kind.

I’m at the edge of a clearing, with green saplings shooting up among the rotting fallen wood. There’s a shack nearby. It feels empty.

I sit, content. There’s a sense of peace among these ancient trees. Surrounded by beings so tall, so old, so _many_ , I feel small in the best way.

 

I expect him. Simon Snow is never far, wherever I go. He’s standing in the middle of the clearing, accented by the late afternoon sun. He glows.

Simon turns to me.

He’s never seen me before. I didn’t think he ever would. And it was bittersweet, that way. Because I could always see him.

He sees me, and I walk to him. How could I not?

 

Blue eyes. Nothing special, not sky blue, not the blue of the ocean. Just blue. Slightly confused, a puzzle behind those eyes.

I’d be happy to just look into those eyes. 

So I do.

 

***

 

SIMON

I’m sitting on the ledge of the highest tower. The night consumes the grounds, but the stars give enough light.

The wind whips through my uniform, but I’m not cold. Baz’s fingers are cold where they’re laced with mine. It’s just right.

 

His hair plays around his face. I want to reach out, tuck it behind his ear. See if it’s as soft as it looks.

It is.

He closes his eyes. He’s silver against the dark.

 

Warmth. Soft lips. Sharp fangs, not dangerous to me. 

Fingers in my hair, down my back.

That feeling in my stomach like I’m falling. 

Safety.

 

BAZ

Kissing Simon on top of the tower. I could fall. I’ve already fallen.

My hands everywhere. His mouth moving down my neck. It won’t mark. I wish it would.

 

It’s brand new and familiar. It’s cold air and warm bodies. Every time feels like the first time, but there’s never been a first time.

 

Guilt. For daring to imagine this. For doing it over and over again.

 

Love and desire, shown in my lips on his, in my kissing every mole. Shown in vain.

 

My legs around his waist. The cold wind is gone now; everything is heat. Everything is _Simon_ , and it would be the best feeling in the world. If it was real.

I pull him closer, as if I can make this never end.

 

He opens his eyes, and in them I see understanding.

Maybe –

Will it be real?

 _Was_ it?


End file.
